


When Called

by ami_ven



Series: When Called [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: writerverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m sorry, but there just wasn’t anybody else to call…” (Or, Rodney is a CEO, John is the Air Force liaison and there’s been a bit of a bar fight…)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Called

**Author's Note:**

> written for LJ community "writerverse" prompt "uncomfortable conversations" & "heroes" (bonus: AU)

The last time Rodney McKay had been in a police station had been for last year’s Policemen’s Charity Auction— a PR event pushed on him by his assistant— where he’d stayed just long enough to have his picture taken buying something he chose at random and shaking hands with the chief of police.

He had _not_ expected to be woken at three o’clock on a Saturday morning by his very private cell phone going off. “What?” he’d barked, and there had been a moment of silence before Sheppard’s voice said, wavering, “ _Rodney?_ ”

He’d been halfway dressed by the time he’d gotten the most basic facts out of Sheppard— there had, apparently, been some kind of altercation at a bar, where Sheppard had done something stupid yet heroic, and the police were refusing to release him unless someone came for him.

“ _I…_ ” John had said. “ _I’m sorry, but there just wasn’t anybody else to call…_ ”

“Shut up,” Rodney snapped, grabbing his keys. “Just shut up, and tell me how to get there.”

Rodney hadn’t stopped to think about what was happening until he pulled into the police station parking lot. He had a driving company on-call, already used to sending a car for him any time an idea struck and he needed to get to the lab. He was on an official-public-figure first-name basis with not just the police chief, but several local and state politicians. But the first thing he’d thought, hearing Sheppard’s voice, had been go wherever Sheppard was, deal with whatever he’d gotten himself into, just see him and make sure he was okay—

He stumbled up the steps into the station. Of course, Sheppard hadn’t meant it like that. Rodney was his boss— well, technically, the Air Force was still his boss, but they’d ordered him to work for Rodney as the liaison to McKay Industries— and even though they might, occasionally, spend time together outside of work, that didn’t mean that they were _friends_.

“Dr. Rodney McKay,” he snapped, at the receptionist. “I’m here for Major John Sheppard. How much is his bail?”

The woman blinked. “Bail? No, Major Sheppard wasn’t arrested. He— they said he called you, didn’t he tell you what happened?”

“The major barely told me he was here,” said Rodney. “And if he’s not under arrest, why are you holding him?”

“He’s pretty banged-up,” the receptionist said. “Major Sheppard said he lived alone, and we were worried that something might happen to him.”

“Oh,” said Rodney. “Well… can I see him?”

Sheppard was sitting on a bench in the station’s open squad room. He was clutching a cheap Styrofoam cup of what was probably coffee, hunched over in that way he had when he was in pain and trying not to show it. When the door opened, he looked up, giving Rodney a good view of his black eye, and managed a smile. “Hey.”

“Don’t you ‘hey’ me,” Rodney snapped. He dropped onto the bench next to him, and grabbed Sheppard’s chin, to take a better look at his eye. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” said Sheppard. “Misunderstanding.”

“Bar fight,” said a uniformed cop, coming up. “A couple of... shall we say, ‘gentlemen’ offered a proposition to a young woman, who refused them, quite clearly. When they tried to repeat the offer, physically, Major Sheppard stepped in.”

“With his face?” Rodney asked.

The cop ignored him. “There was a doctor at the bar, who said the major has a very mild concussion. If you’re the Dr. McKay he said he was waiting for, I’ll let you take him home.

“The young lady has already given her statement. We’ve taken a preliminary statement from Major Sheppard, but he can write one of his own, when he’s feeling up to it.”

“Right, sure,” said Rodney. “Sheppard?”

The major blinked, then frowned. “Rodney?”

“Who else? You called me, remember?”

“I did,” Sheppard said, slowly. “But you… you came.”

“You said you were at the police station!” said Rodney. “Of course I came. Your doctor must have been wrong, officer, he clearly has a serious brain injury—”

“McKay…”

“—so I’d better get him home before he hurts himself.”

The officer had a release form for Rodney to sign, then he hooked a hand under Sheppard’s elbow and hauled the taller man to his feet. Sheppard swayed a little, but stayed upright, waving to the receptionist as he let Rodney tow him out to the parking lot. He was quiet during the drive, slumped against the passenger side window, but he blinked aware again as they pulled into Rodney’s driveway.

“I thought you were taking me home.”

“You have a concussion, Sheppard,” said Rodney, turning off the engine. “Did you think I’d just drop you off at that rat-hole apartment of yours and… You did! You thought I wouldn’t even come for you!”

“ _No_ ,” said Sheppard, quickly. He must have been not only concussed, but a little drunk, still, because he continued, “I just didn’t think I was worth the bother.”

Rodney pushed open his door and came around to help Sheppard out. “When you’re sober and not concussed, we’re going to have a talk about that, and I’m pretty sure you won’t like it.”

Sheppard smiled— not his usual, charming smirk, or the PR smile he brought out for public events, but the slow, genuine smile Rodney had only seen maybe half a dozen times— and leaned against Rodney’s shoulder. “They tried to reassign me,” he said, softly. “I didn’t let them.”

Rodney felt himself smiling back, and grabbed Sheppard’s elbow again. “Come on. I’ll make us some coffee.”

He left Sheppard on the couch, with a glare not to move, and went to rig up a timer to make sure they were awake every two hours. Sheppard had found a marathon of _Star Trek_ on, and Rodney settled beside him, already calling up some half-finished projects on his laptop. He startled when he felt a hand on his knee.

“Thanks,” said Sheppard, almost too low to hear, and Rodney smiled, “Drink your coffee.”

THE END


End file.
